Crimson Feathers

quattro.

I placed the clipping aside and started flipping through the pages of the notebook, amused that my childish handwriting had pretty much stayed the same, even though years had passed since I last wrote and I was now nineteen years old. As I flicked to the last page, a folded sheet of paper fell out from the pages. I smoothed it out and tried to make sense of the cursive scribble that I was looking at.

Pietro,

As I am writing this, you are most certainly preparing to leave the country, for fear that I will try to come after you and take my baby back. I am fortunate that my husband took the time to teach me to read and write, as words are all I have left to give. I hope to get this letter to you, even if it means I have to come into the village that I was exiled from and hand it to you personally. If you are reading this, you know that I did not come to claim back my precious child. Our precious child.

I never confessed your ultimate sin to my husband, your own flesh and blood, but I knew exactly what your intentions were as soon as you came into our home that night so many months ago and instructed my love to go on the long journey to deliver a message to your Duce. When you took me, over and over again, you also took my soul, but I never imagined you would go to the malicious lengths you did.

I do not forgive your actions but I am smart enough to realise that our baby will live a better life with you and my oldest and dearest friend, Martina, than she ever could with me, due to all you have done to ruin me. Only God can replenish your sins, and I trust that you will bear the guilt of your immorality upon your shoulders every day until you meet your life's end. All that I ask is that you love our child with all your heart, and give her the fulfilling life that we could never live in this war-torn country.

Goodnight, my cousin

Evalina - 23rd August 1939.

I finished reading the letter and felt lightheaded as the pieces came together in my mind. Obviously, Nonna Martina had known of the immoral doings of her husband, but did my mother know? Did I have the responsibility to show her what I had just uncovered or was the past better left in the past? Nonno Pietro had done as Evalina had asked of him in the letter. He had migrated to Australia when the war was over and had endured various forms of hard labour throughout the years so that he had the means to purchase his own land and house in a quaint suburban neighbourhood. He had then worked tirelessly to provide my mother with a Catholic private school education, as well as anything else she truly desired when growing up. Mum had always said that she was loved unconditionally by both her parents and that everything they did was so that she could have a better life, free of the burdens of poverty and war. I did not want to be the one to taint my Nonno's good name.